


The Line Between Living and Existing

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Is Not Actually Drank But It Is Mentioned, Death Is Vaguely Hinted At Once, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Established Relationship, Kinktober 2019, Roommates, Wholesome Safe For Work Contents In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: Shirabu always figured the thing he missed most about being human was the ability to drink coffee.But when he meets Yahaba, he learns all the things he was missing out on that he never knew about.





	The Line Between Living and Existing

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 12 - Prompt: Biting

“You heathen,” Shirabu hisses.

Yahaba looks up from his popsicle. “What?” Cherry flavored juice drips down his knuckles, and he licks it off.

“You can’t just bite it,” Shirabu says. To spite him, Yahaba takes another large bite, and Shirabu winces.

“Why do you care?” Yahaba moves the popsicle to his other hand so he can lick his fingers clean. “You don’t even eat.”

Sinking down on the couch, hands wrapped around his stomach, Shirabu mumbles, “It’s the principle.”

“Uh huh.” Yahaba finishes his popsicle off with another two bites, each one sending secondhand pain through Shirabu’s teeth. “Oh, that reminds me”—he throws the stick across the room, missing the trashcan by a wide margin—“did you ever go to the blood bank? You said your dealer was sick.”

“Do not call him my dealer.” Shirabu pinches the bridge of his nose. They’ve gone over this before. “Semi-san will call me when he’s back at work.”

Concern washes over Yahaba’s face. Sitting up, he asks, “He’s not better yet?”

“We just established that, yes.”

“It’s been two weeks!” Yahaba stands, but with nowhere to go, he gestures around the living room, as if Semi will suddenly appear from beneath their coatrack.

Shirabu shrugs. “He got pneumonia.” Picking up the remote, he flips through the television channels in search of a place to escape from Yahaba’s questioning gaze.

“When was the last time you ate?” Yahaba moves between him and the television. Shirabu tries to look away, but he comes closer, taking the remote out of his hand. “You’re hungry.”

“Am not,” Shirabu says just as his stomach releases a traitorous growl.

“Uh huh.” Capturing Shirabu’s chin in his hand, he lifts his face up. “You’re pale.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “I’m a vampire, idiot.” He slaps his hand away. Standing up, he tries to flee, but Yahaba blocks his path.

“You’re paler than normal, I mean.” He cups Shirabu’s cheek. “Is there a different dealer you can go to until Semi-san gets better?”

“Do not call them dealers,” Shirabu says. “They’re phlebotomists.” Yahaba’s hand feels warm on his cheek. Too warm. He tries to back away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Yahaba’s eyes narrow, and the darkness lurking there makes Shirabu feels sick. “You haven’t been…” The sentence trails off with a meaning Shirabu doesn’t want to think about.

“No,” he says. The words burn his throat. They scratch and cut just like Yahaba’s accusation that he would drink blood from a person. Pushing past him, he walks into the kitchen, only to be surrounded by things he can’t eat. With nothing to do, he leans against the backdoor and presses his head to the window. Sunlight flickers behind the thickly tinted glass.

It’s not like he could drink from a person if he wanted to. Technology has advanced in leaps and bounds since he first became a vampire. Back then, it was easy to lure people off the streets. Even if things got too messy, finding bodies lying around was considered normal; no one ever had to know if it was Shirabu or the black plague that left them there.

He wants to pretend he misses that life. No fear. No hunger tearing him apart from the inside out. He traveled across the world, lacking nothing. As cameras became more advanced, he grew better at hiding. Dark alleys. Late night walks. Concerts that ran on too long. Staggering people who drank a little too much. With one careful word, one painless bite, he could have anything.

Except Yahaba.

His chest tightens and swells with a feeling he can’t describe, a feeling he never had back then.

Turning, he examines the Formica countertops and the space saver microwave that doubled as a potential deathtrap in need of replacing. Beyond, he can make out the dark shadows of secondhand furniture and laminate flooring. It’s nothing compared to the castles and mansions he’s lived in before, but it’s the only house that has ever felt like more than just bricks and mortar.

Did Yahaba really think he would risk losing all of this—would risk losing him—for a meal?

Yahaba’s voice drifts in from the living room, and Shirabu wanders closer.

“That’s right. Yes,” Yahaba mumbles. “What’s my condition? Uh, well, I’m… anemic.” Shirabu shakes his head.

“My blood type? It’s O. You know, the really popular one. Wait, what?”

Walking over to him, Shirabu takes the phone and hangs up. “You’re a universal donor,” he says. It suits Yahaba, he thinks, to be so giving to everyone, even in medical matters. “Not a universal receiver. Nice try.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Yahaba grumbles.

“What were you gonna do?” Shirabu bites down on a grin. “Stuff a blood bag under your shirt?”

“No.” He snatches his phone back. “That’s what pockets are for.”

Shirabu sits besides him. He makes sure not to get too close, but he bumps his knee against Yahaba’s, hooking their ankles together. “Stop worrying.”

Yahaba sinks back into the couch. “Emotions don’t work like that. Not when you’re starving in our living room.” He says it casually, so easily Shirabu’s not sure he’s aware he’s doing it. Slowly, all of the “my’s” become “our’s,” and the feeling in Shirabu’s chest, so foreign yet warm, continues to grow.

It feels a lot like living.

Belonging.

__

_Love._

When Yahaba leans his head on his shoulder, Shirabu doesn’t push him away. “Semi-san will get better,” he says, curling into Yahaba. Blood pulses beneath his skin, but the hunger clenching Shirabu’s stomach feels distant, separate. From the very first day he met him, Shirabu has never considered Yahaba to be food.

“Soon?” Yahaba asks.

Shirabu kisses the side of his head. “Soon.”

He tilts his head back to look up at him. “And you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I promise.” He runs lines through Yahaba’s hair, watching as the tension eventually leaves Yahaba's shoulders. He can put up with any hunger, as long as he doesn’t lose this home he found in Yahaba’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Three days later, Shirabu accepts a bag of blood from a haggard looking Semi, passing him the money and a bottle of vitamins in exchange.


End file.
